


59 Minutes

by Wine_Into_Water



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-17
Updated: 2007-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wine_Into_Water/pseuds/Wine_Into_Water
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>59 minutes is all Sam has left before he loses everything. (Set a year after AHBL2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	59 Minutes

He never thought it would come to this. Thought he would be able to find an out, some sort of loophole they could use to save Dean. But he hadn’t. He failed. All the times Dean had saved his life and he couldn’t even manage to save Dean’s just this once. The guilt and shame that cut through his body because of it was almost too much to bear, almost enough to make him pull away, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He needed every last second he could have, to hold Dean in his arms, to feel the security of the weight of Dean’s body pressed against his, to feel Dean’s warmth ebbing away the coldness within him that he hadn’t been able to shake since he pieced together the knowledge that Dean had sold his soul to save his life.

A year had turned into months and the months to weeks, weeks to days, days to hours, and now they were down to mere minutes. A year wasted trying to save him… monsters and demons, even humans tortured and killed in the name of love, for just one clue as to how he could save his brother, and it was all for nothing. The blood he spilled and the pain inflicted -- it didn’t bring him any closer to the answers that he needed. The only thing to come from all his efforts was a protective circle that wouldn’t stop Dean from dying, but would keep Hell Hounds from tearing him to pieces. As much as Sam hated it, it had to be enough.

Dean doesn’t know it, but Sam tried to make a deal of his own. Begged and pleaded with the red-eyed bitch to give him more time. She could have them both, if he would be able to keep Dean for just a few moments longer. Her delicate features formed into a beautiful smile as she leaned in close to his ear and informed him that watching his brother die, knowing it was to save him, was a far better torture than he’d ever receive by spending an eternity in hell side by side with his older brother. So no, she wasn’t about to make the deal. Sam had fallen to his knees, defeated, and she had laughed at him before vanishing. Sam would have killed her, but then she’d be the one getting to spend eternity in hell with Dean. He wouldn’t be the one to give her that pleasure. Instead, he’d find a way to torture her, to trap her and make her beg for forgiveness, plead with him to take the pain away. Bargain with him for death, and then he’d leave her there to suffer and walk away without looking back. Show her the same amount of generosity she had shown him.

“Fifty-nine minutes, Sammy.”

It was a warning, a painful reminder of the time left before he would lose everything. Sam didn’t waste time replying, just continued his assault on Dean’s neck, taking a long lick upward so he could taste him, trying to get enough to hold him over until he could figure out his own way down to hell. His nose brushed against day-old stubble, making him whimper with want. He needed this, needed his senses overloaded on everything that was Dean. Needed the smell of worn leather and spice, of blood and sweat and just Dean burnt into his nostrils, so he’d never again know any other scent.

He needed to be stretched too far and too fast and too hard, until he ripped open. Until Dean was the only thing he felt and would feel for days. Wanted Dean to come hard, deep inside of him, reclaiming what had always been his. Wanted deep purple fingerprints bruised into his hips that would take weeks to fade away, bite marks along his collarbone that proved he belonged to someone. They’d remind him of the feel of Dean’s lips and the promises that were whispered into his ear over the years.

But this wasn’t about what he wanted; it was about what Dean needed.

He let himself get completely lost in Dean as Dean pushed him back against the warm vibrating hood of the Impala; Dean had refused to shut her off. He needed to feel and hear her as much as he needed Sammy. Her lights shone out into the distance, lighting up the nothingness that surrounded them. He laid back and took in the feel of Dean’s hands as they explored his body, grazing over scars soft and slow, fingers taking the time to remember every rough edge of healed skin. He got dizzy on Dean’s kisses, kisses that could only be described as perfect. Full lips pressed against his own, not seeking anything more than just contact. Dean’s tongue was urgent and demanding, running over the roof of Sam’s mouth and along his teeth, just tasting, touching, moments in between spent intertwining with his.

Somewhere between soft touches, heated kisses, and words of regret and love, their clothes had ended up in a pile on the dirt beside the front wheel of the car. The position not the most convenient or the most comfortable, but exactly what they both needed, Sam gripped Dean’s hips to still him when he saw a tear that escaped and ran down his cheek as he lowered himself. Dean’s hands found his and pulled them away, intertwining their fingers as he pressed Sam’s hands down beside his head and finished lowering himself onto his little brother. They moved together, slow at first, savoring the feel of each other. Sam leaned up to lick at the first tear that had fallen and the few that had fallen after, his own being brushed away by the pad of Dean’s thumb. Sam didn’t know how long it lasted, how many minutes that had slipped away, he just knew that it was too many and not enough.

Lying side-by-side, breathless and spent, Dean gripped the pendant that now hung around Sam’s neck instead of his own and pulled him closer, a chaste kiss being shared between them. Sam wanted to ask him to stay, to hold his face in his hands with their lips almost brushing and eyes locked together and just beg him to stay, ask him not to leave him in the world all alone. To do that, he would have to take his lips away from Dean’s, but he wouldn’t. Not when it was the last time. He would stay like this as long as he could. Until the tension left Dean’s lips, and Dean’s weight went heavy in his arms. He’d wait until his tears had dried and the lips against his were cold.

Then he’d pull away.

Then, he’d say good-bye.

He had no other choice.


End file.
